


Cabin Fever

by rivendellelve



Series: Young Outlaw [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No TB though, Sickfic, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews, dad!Hosea, sick!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivendellelve/pseuds/rivendellelve
Summary: Being chased by the law, caught in a snowstorm AND separated from Hosea is no time to be sick. So of course Arthur doesn't tell Dutch





	Cabin Fever

Arthur looked up at the sky glumly as the first white fluffy snowflake drifted down, frowning at it as if disapproval would make it and its brethren disappear. He leaned closer Ginger, scratching the mare's neck, selfishly trying to draw warmth from her. At least she didn't mind waiting in the cold in the middle of nowhere.

They should be back by now. He scanned the horizon again. Where were they? Dutch and Hosea set out to rob a stagecoach, well guarded but also carrying loads of money. Dutch said it would be enough to spend the winter holed up in a nice cabin without having to worry about work. It sounded nice then.

Now, alone with Ginger, waiting for the two men who had become his family in the last four months, he'd rather leave the money and have them back. The nagging voice at the back of his mind that insisted they weren't coming back got louder by the minute it seemed. Arthur buried his face in Ginger's mane and tried not to think about what could have happened.

He wasn't sure how long he had stayed like this, trying to shut out the world but more importantly his thoughts, but eventually Ginger snorted, shook her head and turned her ears forward expectantly. Arthur let go of her and followed her gaze. He could not see anyone with the snow falling harder than before, but he trusted her sense of smell.

His trust was rewarded when a lone figure appeared in the distance. Arthur almost lurched forward, wanting to run toward them, because who else would have reason to be out here. Yet he stayed, remembering his promise not to move until they came to get him. He was somewhat hidden beneath the trees at the base of some mountains. If the shape in the distance was them, they'd be here soon enough. If it was a stranger then he would just be giving his position away and while he was certain he could outrun most people on Ginger, he was also certain if he left this place, he would never find his family again.

As the figure grew closer, his anxiety grew, Ginger starting to shift her weight, sensing his distress. There was only one figure coming closer. He was sure he recognized the clothes. Abandoning his previous caution he ran forward, pulling Ginger along.

“Dutch!”, he shouted, coming to a stop in front of the man, anxiously searching the horizon for another familiar shape. He turned back to Dutch, mouth dry.

“Dutch, what-”, he started.

“There were some complications. Everything's fine – we figured it out.” The man had his hands raised to stall any further questions, expression not allowing further discussion. “We'll meet up on the other side of these mountains. Hosea said there's a mining city there.”

Dutch pushed his mare past Arthur, motioning him forward. “Come on, Arthur! We need to move.”

Arthur scrambled up into Ginger's saddle, turning her around while trying to shake off the snow, that clung to his body. Dutch was already a few paces ahead and he urged Ginger to go faster. If they had to cross the mountains they should do it before the snow got worse.

They pushed on until it was dark and then a bit longer until Dutch finally relented and had them set up camp. Unsure of what to do but wanting to be useful Arthur started gathering firewood.

“The hell are you doing?”, Dutch hissed, making him flinch at the unexpected dangerous note in the man's voice.

The sticks he had gathered fell from his limp hand, the tone enough to make him freeze. He turned toward the man, but kept his eyes on the ground, looking at Dutch's feet, afraid to meeting his eyes would raise his ire. No one had ever asked him that question because they wanted an answer.

“Making a fire”, he mumbled.

“Do you _want_ every lawman in a thirty mile radius to come looking for us, Arthur?”, Dutch spat.

He shook his head no.

“Then maybe don't go setting up a signal.”

Arthur mumbled an apology, only for Dutch to wave him off, telling him to go to sleep. He crawled into his tent, briefly considering taking off his jacket. On one hand it was wet from the snow and sleeping in wet clothes would be miserable. On the other hand, without a fire he would not be able to dry it and then it would be frozen solid. Crawling into his sleeping bag he curled up tightly, hoping for the night to pass soon.

The morning came with more clouds and stronger wind than the night before. Arthur wasn't sure if he had actually managed to fall asleep or if he had been up the entire night shivering and miserable. His throat hurt. When he crawled out of his tent Dutch was already moving about, shaking the snow out of his tent sheet. His posture was tense and he didn't even so much as glance at Arthur.

Arthur couldn't blame him. His night probably hadn't been any better. He just hoped Hosea had found somewhere safe. He looked back to where they came from as if the third member of his little family would suddenly appear if he just kept watching. Dutch probably was worried about Hosea, too he realized. He shook his head. The sooner they got over that mountain the better. He really shouldn't be whining over one cold night when there were more important things to do.

Pulling his jacket and scarf tighter, he began rolling up his sleeping bag while keeping an eye on Dutch, trying to gauge the man's mood. His usually deft fingers stiff from the cold, the task gave him more trouble than he expected. When he managed to drop the bag for the second time, he heard Dutch mutter behind him.

“For heaven's sake Arthur, we don't got time for this.” He stalked over to where Arthur was fumbling with his gear, taking it from the boy and tying it up himself before shoving the rolled up package back into Arthur's chest.

“Now come on, we need to go.”

Arthur stumbled after Dutch, clutching his bag, while the man threw blanket and saddle on Ginger's back, his own horse already outfitted. Once he was done, he grabbed the sleeping bag out of Arthur's hand and fastened it as well, while Arthur stood by uselessly, unsure whether he should offer help or stay out of the way. Dutch didn't seem to want any help.

He hunched his shoulders, trying to rub some feeling back into his fingers. If only they weren't so cold. A hand on his shoulders startled him, Dutch guiding him forward and practically lifting him into the saddle before mounting his own horse. Arthur ducked his head, ashamed Dutch would think he still needed help getting into the saddle, aware that this time he probably would've had trouble getting on Ginger without help.

Without a word Dutch kicked his horse's side, trotting off, Arthur following suit a moment later.

With the sun hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, the day was even colder than the previous one, their breath coming out in white puffs. Dutch led them on a small and winding trail, at least Arthur assumed it was a trail because there were trees lining it on both sides. He tried to see where they were going, looking past Dutch. There was something in the distance, he thought, a little shape cropping out between the trees, when a sudden itch in his throat broke his concentration. He tried to clear his throat but the itch turned into a cough, that had him hunch his shoulder against the suddenness of it.

Ginger stopped, obviously concerned of maybe spooked and he thought Dutch was giving him a look but didn't want to dwell on it. He urged Ginger on, not wanting to slow them down. They needed to meet up with Hosea. Dutch seemed really worried, meaning Arthur was anxious as well. If they made good time, they could be on the other side of the mountain by tomorrow. The weather, it seemed, had other plans.

Around noon the threat of even more snow that had been looming over them the entire day, became real. Thick snowflakes fell from the sky, more than the day before, the wind driving snow into his eyes, blinding him. He could barely make out Dutch anymore beyond the flurry of white. Ginger was struggling against the ever rising snow, almost slipping on obstacles obscured beneath the white blanket, while pushing on.

And it was still so cold. His entire world faded until all that was left was the wall of white in front of him and the warm body underneath him. He stared at Ginger's mane, transfixed by the way it swayed with her movements and how snow clung to it.

“-thur! Arthur!” A hand grabbed his shoulder, shaking him out of his stupor. Dutch was beside him.

“You with me, son?”

Arthur nodded, not wanting to give Dutch another reason to worry. He tried to ask where they were going but his throat felt dry, too dry. He barely managed a sound before he started coughing again, looking away from Dutch, ashamed of his weakness. When he turned back Dutch wasn't even looking at him anymore, instead staring straight ahead.

“I think there's a cabin up ahead, we can take shelter there”, Dutch said, words distorted by the chattering of his teeth.

Arthur couldn't see anything but white, but he trusted Dutch knew where they were going. And suddenly, there it was – a little house right in front of him, jutting out against the wall of white like a missing tooth in a bright smile. Next to it was something Arthur would – for a lack of a better word – call a barn, maybe a barn's little brother. They led their horses inside, both animals glad to be out of that storm.

It didn't seem like there had been any animals in here in quite some time. There was no hay, no animal droppings, no nothing. Whoever lived here had given up on raising livestock some time ago. Dutch turned back towards the door.

“Take care of the horses, will you? I'll see who lives here”, he said about to leave, then pausing and looking at Arthur. “Don't follow me until I come and get you”, he added, not waiting for an answer. Arthur nodded anyway.

He started with Dutch's mare first, what with her tending to be ill-tempered especially if she was hungry. He removed her gear, dug out a bag of oats out of their supply bag and poured them into one of the feeding trough, that after a quick inspection proved it was clean enough. He repeated the process for Ginger before he started brushing the snow and mud out of their coats and cleaning the dirt out of their hooves.

When he bent down to clean the snow off of Dutch's saddle, the shift of position irritated his airways, a cough forcing its way out and turning into a coughing fit. He doubled over trying to catch his breath, spots dancing in front of his eyes. Leaning his shoulder against one of the decrepit wooden post waiting for the worst to pass. He hadn't gotten sick in years and wasn't going to start now.

The horses were eyeing him when he straightened, watching him before deciding food was more important. Arthur stood and watched them for a bit, catching his breath, studying the way they moved, how the muscles flexed in their necks, how they nosed into the trough, how their ears flickered back and forth. He blinked.

He still needed to clean their gear. Brushing off what still remained of the snow he took care of both saddles and the rest of the horse tack, making sure to wipe off the mud as well. By the end of it he was exhausted enough, he just wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe Dutch was done by now. Maybe he could check and then they could rest.

The horses were still eating, they'd be fine. He stuck his head out of the door, snow immediately pelting his face, obscuring his sight. He hesitated. He didn't want to disobey Dutch, didn't want to upset him. Maybe he should wait. Except, he had already waited some time and Dutch wasn't back yet. Asking if they could stay until the storm passed should take this long. He chewed on his bottom lip. What if Dutch needed help?

Steeling his courage, Arthur pushed through the snow, hesitating briefly when he reached the cabin's door. He almost took a deep breath to calm himself but the itch at the back of his throat and the tightness in his chest warned him against it. Opening the door, peeked inside. Nothing. He let the door fall close behind him, creeping forward while keeping the wall at his back. Not the first house he was breaking into after all. Except this time he wasn't necessarily here to steal something. Maybe he should've taken his knife with him. Something moved.

“Dutch?”

The man dropped whatever he was carrying and spun around.

“Jesus, Arthur! What the hell are you doing in here?”, Dutch snapped.

“I- I'm sorry, I just thought-”

“I didn't ask you to think, I asked you to wait. Now _go_ and take care of the horses!”

Arthur turned tail and fled to the shed, instincts honed throughout his short life telling him to disappear, to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Angry men never had much patience. Running into the barn, he found Ginger and buried his face in Ginger's mane, hugging the mare tightly. He should have listened. He was stupid to think Dutch would need help. Stupid. The mare shook her head, pushing her nose into his chest and demanding scratches.

He let go of her neck, absentmindedly petting her, while he looked around, seeing if there was another way for him to be useful. He couldn't think of anything. He was still tired and cold. Or maybe hot, he wasn't even sure anymore because he somehow felt far too hot and cold at the same time.

Maybe if he just sat down and rested his eyes for a moment he'd feel better. He curled up behind an empty barrel, arms hugged tight around his legs. Just for a minute.

* * *

Leaving the shed, Arthur busy with the horses, Dutch looped around the cabin, peering into the windows, trying to see anyone or anything through the layer of grime. No people and even more telling, no fire to be seen. Nothing to be heard either but over the roaring of the wind that didn't surprise him. He pried the front door open, pausing to listen if anything moved, then advanced, hand resting on his gun.

The interior was just as dirty as the windows, a thick layer of dust covering everything. He brushed his fingers over a dresser, leaving three clear lines. It's drawers were torn out, the contents strewn over the floor. Checking the living room next he found it in very much the same state of complete disarray. Every cupboard was torn open, every shelf overturned and it looked like someone had broken the table into pieces.

This place had been abandoned and picked clean long ago. The kitchen didn't look any better, empty cans lying around and cupboard doors ripped out of their hinges. When he checked the bedroom he changed his assessment. The place wasn't abandoned, it had been robbed. What remained of the most likely entire family was huddled in a corner, dried out husks of what used to be people. He could see the bullet holes in the woman's skull.

“Jesus.” Dutch shook his head, rubbing a hand over his chin. He had to get these out before Arthur saw them. Boy had seen enough shit for a lifetime, definitely didn't more nightmare fuel. Maybe if the weather allowed it, he could dig these folks a grave later. For now, a bed of snow would have to do. He grabbed the smallest body first, trying not to think about how old the kid might have been, and wrapped the remaining clothes tight around it.

He paused outside, not wanting to leave them lying around where Arthur would find them but also not wanting to go too far. The tall tree behind the cabin would have to do for now. He gently set the body down, right under it. If he wanted to bury them later, at least he would have no trouble finding them again. He went to get the mother next, her taller frame proving to be a problem when it came to moving her body. He resorted to awkwardly dragging her out, hoping to get her out in one piece when he heard a voice.

“Dutch?”

He dropped the woman and spun around.

“Jesus, Arthur! What the hell are you doing in here?”, he asked, trying to shield the corpse from view.

“I- I'm sorry, I just thought-”, Arthur stammered, avoiding eye contact.

“I didn't ask you to think-” If Arthur got just one step closer he was bound to see the corpse. “I asked you to wait. Now go and take care of the horses!”

He took a deep breath. That had been close. With the kid out of the way, he bent down to grab the body before him. Getting dropped hadn't done the poor woman's remains any favors. Nothing he could do about it except try not to think about having to pick up parts later. A morbid part of himself was glad the body wasn't fresh.

Shaking his head free of the unwelcome thoughts if not the uncomfortable feeling, he carried the woman outside, making sure to lay her down carefully as an apology. The last body proved to be the most difficult, being the biggest one taking for longer to dispose of than he would have liked. He had just gotten it outside, when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

The shape of a man, obscured by the still falling snow. Too tall to be Arthur. He cocked his gun. No one in their right mind would be out and about in this weather, so he'd be damned if he let someone get the drop on him. He snuck up to the door, pressed his back flat against the wall and carefully pushed the handle down. In one swift motion he stepped forward, gun raised, ready to shoot and -

“Hosea?”, he stopped short, surprised.

The other man lowered his weapon, looking equally surprised.

“Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack”, he muttered before looking around. “Where's Arthur?”

“With the horses.”

Hosea raised his brow. “The horses? I just was there.” He pushed past Dutch, out of the house and toward the shed.

Dutch followed suit with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Kid was supposed to be there – he better not be doing anything stupid. Hosea was already stomping through the snow ahead of him, leaving a clear path for Dutch, and tearing the door open. There was a third horse in there alright, but no Arthur. Guilt started gnawing at his intestines. He shouldn't have yelled at the boy, shouldn't have lost his cool – if something happened to-

“Arthur!” Hosea started forward, suddenly startling both Dutch and the horses, before crouching down next to a barrel. That's when he noticed the small bundle. His heart clenched painfully, just like every other time he had seen Arthur folded completely into himself. He looked just as small and lost as the day they had found him.

Hosea put his hand on Arthur's shoulder, shaking him gently, worried by the how cold and wet his coat felt. When Arthur opened his eyes, they were glassy and unfocused, taking a moment before they settled on him.

“Hosea? How 'd you get here?” He wasn't sure, but he thought he felt the boy shiver.

“Long story for another day”, he answered, rubbing his hand across Arthur's shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Arthur shrunk further into himself, giving a slight shrug. “Dunno. Cold.” A cough shook his thin frame, forcing him to double over while trying to turn away from him and Dutch.

“I'm okay!”, he wheezed in between coughs, sounding about as okay as a brick to the face, before doubling over again. Hosea put his arm around Arthur, waiting for him to catch his breath before lifting him to his feet.

“Come on, let's get you warmed up.”

Dutch was already ahead of them, gesturing for Hosea to follow him and leading them into the cabin's living room. Once they had a fire going Hosea could see just how absolutely miserable Arthur looked. He was pale, his lips were blue and he was still shivering despite the fire and the blanket they had brought him. He wanted nothing more than to ask Dutch why the hell he hadn't gotten Arthur warmed up sooner. And 'ask' was putting it nicely.

He wasn't going to say anything in front of Arthur, though, poor boy still was terrified when either of them raised their voice. Instead he went to grab a pot from the kitchen. It took a bit of rummaging around but eventually he found one that wasn't broken or rusty. He put it down next to the fire, turning to Arthur.

“What do you think – beans or corn? I think I also have some crackers in my satchel.” He looked at Arthur expectantly, hoping to coax a reaction out of him.

“Ain't hungry”, came the mumbled reply.

“You have to eat something”, Dutch spoke up behind them, can of beans already in hand and taking the pot from Hosea. “Bit of food and you'll be right as rain.”

Hosea took the opportunity to take off his own coat, was about to hang it close to the fire to dry. Idly he wondered if he had any herbs left to make some cough syrup. He'd have to check.

“I'll be right back”, he told Arthur putting a hand on his head, before chucking on his still wet coat and going back out, dashing over to the shed. Not wanting to have to come back later, he took the opportunity to give his horse a proper rubdown, the gelding already eyeing him reproachfully for being ignored for so long.

He did not have any herbs but he did find some leftover cough syrup and honey. Both would have to do for now. He also grabbed the rest of their provisions, no point in risking a raccoon finding their stash and then being stranded out here in the middle of a snowstorm without food.

Arthur was idly pushing food around his plate when Hosea came back, Dutch insisting he eat more but apparently to no avail.

“Come on Arthur, you have to eat more than that.” Hosea coaxed, crouching before the boy, holding the plate up. “Just a little?”, he tried.

Arthur shook his head no. He looked absolutely miserable and tired.

“That's alright, then”, Hosea told him, setting the plate down. “Try to get some rest.”

Arthur nodded, lying down in front of of the fire. Hosea sat down next to him, watching him watch the fire. Tentatively he reached out and ran his hand through Arthur's hair. The kid froze, eyes widening for a moment before relaxing. He repeated the motion, feeling the tension drain out of Arthur and watching his eyes slip close eventually. He kept going until the boy's breathing had evened out and he was sure he had fallen asleep.

* * *

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

Arthur pressed himself flat against the ground, hiding under their wagon, having slid under there as soon as his father came back from town already drunk and in a foul mood and only proceeding to drink more. Unfortunately the man hadn't had enough to pass out.

“COME HERE, YOU UNGRATEFUL SHIT!”

He heard footsteps closing in, could smell the booze from where he was huddled. He held his breath while his father was standing right next to their wagon. If he were to reach out his hand he would be able to touch his father's boot. he tried to make himself smaller. the man started muttering something unintelligible in a singsong voice.

Arthur shivered and it wasn't from the cold ground he was lying on. Things got bad when his father was like this. A sudden crash almost had him cry out. Another crash sounded when a bottle was flung against the wagon, breaking into pieces just inches from his face, followed by more things being thrown around their camp from the sound of it.

He'd have to gather them up while his father slept, try to salvage what he could and erase all traces of this mess or he'll get into trouble the next morning. He realized he couldn't hear his father anymore. The silence more unnerving than anything. He tried to see without leaving the safety of his hiding spot, hoping that maybe his father did have too much to drink and was now sleeping it off.

“GOT YOU NOW!”

A hand closed around his ankle, dragging him out into the open, his father looming above him, drunk and angry. He raised his arms in a futile attempt of defense against the beating that was sure to come, his father grabbing onto his shoulder and shaking him.

“Arthur. Arthur! Wake up, you're alright, everything's alright.”

Arthur blinked, disorientated and confused to see his father's angry face replaced with Hosea's worried one. He tried to get up, pausing and falling back down when he thought he heard his father yelling. A strong hand on his back caught him, guided him into a sitting position and kept him steady when the room refused to stay still. A hand brushed over his sweat soaked face.

“You with us?”, Hosea asked, letting him to lean against his chest, instead of being supported by his hand.

Arthur nodded, more because it felt it was the answer expected of him, because he wasn't sure where he was and how he got here. He still thought he could he his father's threats in the distance, further away now but not gone. He stared at the windows, half expecting a shadowy figure to burst in. Hosea was moving behind him, tearing Arthur's attention from the lurking shadows just in time to see him pouring hot water into a cup.

“Got you something for the fever”, he told him, holding out the cup. “Added some honey, too.”

Arthur took it, sipping carefully. The honey did little to nothing to mask the bitter taste of whatever herbs were in there. He shook his head, trying not to gag. Hosea chuckled behind him.

“I know it tastes awful but it's good for you.”

Arthur made a face but drank the rest of the liquid, shuddering against the taste. Whatever it was Hosea had given him, made him feel drowsy, limbs heavy as stones.

“You want to get some more sleep?” Hosea asked him, clearly able to see his exhaustion. Arthur nodded, lying back down, yet unable to go back to sleep. The memory of his father enough to keep his eyes open, afraid to see him again the moment he let himself drift off again. He watched the fire instead, flames dancing merrily. He felt Hosea's hand run through his hair again, hand coming to rest on his forehead, feeling cool against his burning skin. He couldn't help but lean into the touch.

“How about we switch up our reading lesson today?”

Arthur rolled onto his back, looking at Hosea, equal parts curious and confused. The man gave him a smile, running his hand through Arthur's hair again.

“Today I'll do the reading”, he told him with a bright smile. “Now where did we stop last time?” He pulled a book out from somewhere behind him. It was old, bound in brown and probably stolen.

Arthur recognized it. It was the same one that he had been forced to read out loud ever since Hosea had started teaching him, saying reading and writing were necessary skills anyone should have.

“Ah, here it is.” Hosea gave him another smile before doing what Arthur liked to call his reading voice. “Little brother took his little sister by the hand and said, 'Since our mother died we have not had a single good hour. Our stepmother beats us every day, and whenever we come near her she kicks us away with her feet.“

He closed his eyes against the sudden pain in his chest, the words hitting far too close to home, and forced himself to focus on the story instead. Eventually the story about a sister and her brother who got turned into a deer distracted him until his exhaustion won out, the soothing rumble of Hosea's voice lulling him back to sleep. This time he dreamed of a stag.

**Author's Note:**

> Does Hosea show up like a Dad Ex Machina? I have no idea ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I admit I'm not too happy with this but it was either post it or delete the entire thing so here we go  
(PS: Comments feed the plotbunnies ♥)


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